


Independently Together

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Accidents, Acting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Annoyance, Arguing, Awkward Flirting, Bad Jokes, Banter, Caretaking, Caring, Coffee, Comfort, Companionable Snark, Concern, Confrontations, Dark Being Creepy, Darkness, Disappointment, Discovery, Embarrassment, Existential Crisis, Explanations, F/M, Frustration, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Gossip, Hair Brushing, Help, Hope, Hugs, Infatuation, Insults, Jealousy, Light Petting, Loneliness, Medical Examination, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mischief, Multiple Selves, News Media, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Obsession, Overworking, Pick-Up Lines, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Prophetic Visions, Purring, Rain, Rants, Rescue, Research, Romantic Friendship, Secret Crush, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Senpai Notice Me, Sensation Play, Shyness, Spying, Stress, Stress Relief, Surprise Kissing, Surprises, Sweet, Sympathy, Teamwork, Teasing, Tenderness, Threats of Violence, Tree Climbing, Unresolved Tension, Wet Clothing, Worry, Writing, accidental confessions, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Through a series of...diverseencounters, Amy is forced to face the fact that a relationship with Mark, by extension, means a relationship with his Egos. They have interesting ways of going about it, to say the least.





	1. Getting Warmed Up

The rain coming down in sheets didn’t bode well for her, Amy decided, shaking her head. She was already regretting her decision to come out in this weather, but she had promised to check up on the Egos today in Mark’s stead. He and Darkiplier were on heightened terms of animosity at the moment, enough so that showing his face at Egos Incorporated was an invitation for it to be bashed in. Ethan and Kathryn were busy editing Mark’s latest video and Tyler was out of town, which meant that Amy was the only viable option. Not even Dark would dare to harm her—at least so far.

As she pulled into the empty lot, Amy leaned toward the passenger seat, rifling through the glove box and finding, to her dismay, that the umbrella was nowhere to be found. That was going to _bite_. Staring despairingly out into the darkness, she took a few moments to brace herself and then burst out of the vehicle, racing across the asphalt with as much dignity as she could muster.

Her arrival wasn’t quite as graceful, however, as her wet shoes skidded out on the polished wood in the entryway. She yelped as she fell, flailing for something to grasp, and found a pair of hands waiting to catch her.

“That might not be the best way to come in, Amy!” the Silver Shepherd exclaimed in concern, hefting her back onto her feet. “Oh, gee, you’re soaked! Are you alright?” Without waiting for an answer, he tugged at the knot securing his cape around his neck and swept it around her shoulders instead, patting her back with a dull thump of his mitten as he led her toward the kitchen.

“Thanks, Shepherd,” she sighed ruefully as she pulled the cape closer around her. The fabric was thin and tattered, but it was dry, which was more than could be said for her jacket. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, they’re all in the conference room discussing another one of Warfie’s Markiplier TV ideas,” Shepherd answered as he pulled a mug from one of the nearly-empty cabinets, peering into it and then blowing out the dust.

“Without you?” Amy asked without thinking, wiping her dripping hair out of her eyes.

Shepherd flinched ever so slightly at that phrasing but nodded, elaborating with no small amount of glumness, “Will says it’s not for me, even when it’s supposed to be for _everybody_. Just goes to show that they don’t know what they’re missing, I guess.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, laser-focused on the generous cup of coffee he was pouring. As soon as he picked it up, it sloshed over the side and he tsked in disappointment, mumbling something to himself and moving away in search of paper towels.

Venturing closer, Amy leaned on her side of the island. “Well, maybe they think you’re better at other things.”

“Like what?” Shepherd scoffed under his breath, almost going unheard. “All I’m good at is fighting crime.” As he turned with the towels, more coffee sloshed over the other side of the mug, staining his white mitten an ugly brown. Cursing half-heartedly, he glanced up at her in embarrassment. “Apparently I can’t even grab coffee without screwing it up…”

“It’ll be fine,” Amy soothed as she came around to take the mug, sipping what was left before setting it aside and tugging off the tainted mitten. As soon as her fingers brushed his, she flinched. “Wow, your fingers are freezing! Is _that_ why you wear these?” Pushing the mitt onto the counter with the coffee, she took his hand between her own, rubbing it vigorously.

Shepherd watched the process, seeming almost confused by her attentions, but when she lifted their hands to blow warm air on them, he stopped her. After fidgeting shyly for a beat or two, he leaned in and lightly kissed her fingers.

“I’m supposed to be getting _you_ warmed up,” he reminded her with a sheepish half-smile.

“Why can’t I return the favor?” Amy responded sensibly.

Shepherd seemed unsure how to counter that and, in the end, settled for shaking his head and commenting, “They really _don’t_ know what they’re missing.”


	2. Standard Operating Procedure

Amy hadn’t actually intended to stay at Egos Incorporated any longer than was necessary; she was already late and had hoped to be in and out, picking up one of Wilford’s guns so Mark could use it in a shot—which Wilford had naturally insisted he could do himself until Amy had hurriedly explained that they weren’t actually _shooting_ someone with it. Mark was just going to wave it around for a few seconds. Wilford had countered that he could do that too, but Amy had sped away with it before he could finish.

On her way to the door, however, she couldn’t help but slow upon seeing that the blue-clad Googleplier was pacing the lengths of the room, muttering urgently to himself with an expression of intense concentration. As Amy got closer, she caught a fragment of what he was saying.

“…Adjusted posture, instinctive fidgeting, deeper vocal tones, prolonged eye contact…” He stopped up short upon noticing her presence, pivoting to face her so stiffly that Amy had a feeling they looked like they were squaring off. “Hello,” Google greeted in a growl, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes at her.

“Hey there,” Amy answered with a fleeting smile as she moved toward the door. Google followed, planting a hand between her shoulder blades that made her jump and half-turn. “Whoa, Google, what are you doing? You don’t plan on coming with me, do you?”

To her bewilderment, the Alter Ego straightened to the posture of a ramrod, a visibly shudder running through his frame before he leaned in and, blinking oddly, petted her arm. Amy whisked it out of his reach almost immediately, half-lifting Wilford’s gun as she repeated guardedly, “Okay, Google, _what_ are you doing?”

For a split second Google looked disappointed, but the expression passed so quickly that Amy wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. “I am performing the natural bodily functions of a man who finds himself attracted to a woman,” he stated grimly.

Eyes widening, Amy glanced at the door and then back at him. “Oh! Um…”

“I’m not incorrect, am I?” Google asked with a scowl. “These actions are well-documented online. Will you respond properly?”

“I—well, Google, I’m late for…” Amy trailed off, slight guilt stirring as he quite literally dimmed and lowered his eyes to the floor. “Okay, um—” Hastily she stuffed Wilford’s gun in her purse so her hands would be free. Huffing a laugh at how awkwardly staged this was, she slid her arms over Google’s shoulders. His hair was longer than Mark’s and it had a coarse, distinctly synthetic feel, but she slid her fingers through it regardless and planted a firm kiss on his cheek.

Whatever robotic discomfort she had expected wasn’t at all what she got: Google immediately closed the rest of the distance, wrapping her in a tight hug with an audible _purr_ , so low that it vibrated in his chest and his glowing G emblem flickered.

She hadn’t stopped bustling around all day, Amy realized, and this was probably the closest she would get to a hug with Mark before the insanity continued. Closing her eyes, she let herself really relax against him, just for a minute.

“Is this standard operating procedure enough to keep you here?” Google hummed against her ear, sounding quite pleased with himself, and that was _very_ much like Mark. Amy decided to deny him any more pleasure, promptly pushing him away and swatting him on the arm.

“Nope, but I’ll admit it was nice. I’ll see you later,” she assured him with a grin. She couldn’t be sure as she turned away, but she was almost certain that he offered a smile in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made this the Googleplier we knew from the Matthias video, when he still had that lovely long hair <3 It was a good look for him! And I just couldn't shake this feeling that he would have no tact for flirting whatsoever. Flirting? Just pet the girl's arm and guilt her into flirting back XD


	3. Frustrations

“The Host looks up as the door opens, setting aside thoughts of his work to greet Amy Nelson.”

As Amy bumped the door with her hip, closing it against the noise in the hallway, she forced a half-smile. “The doctor asked me to bring you a cup of coffee…He says you’ve been in here a while,” she stated, looking him up and down. The Host still had his back to her, hunched over his desk, though he had turned his head enough that she could see wet crimson blooming behind his bandages, permeating through the older stains.

“The Host Foresaw the reason for Amy Nelson’s visit. He requests that she set it nearby for when he has need of it,” he replied. Amy’s brows furrowed at his distant tone but she approached nonetheless, setting the mug near his elbow.

“Just be careful not to knock it off,” she warned good-naturedly. “I have no idea if it’s a trend among you Egos, but Mark can be all over the place sometimes.”

“While this is a trend among his peers, The Host doesn’t fall into that category and doesn’t need his eyes to See his mug of coffee,” the Alter Ego countered, frustration lacing his tone. “He wonders about Amy Nelson’s previous misconceptions of his _condition_.”

“I’m sorry,” Amy cut him off quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. And…you know, you can just call me Amy.”

Stiff silence settled down then and Amy wondered if she had said the wrong thing. She took half a step back when the Host abruptly scraped his chair away from the desk and rose. He looked taller when he had the folds of his coat falling around him, she noted as he turned to face her, tilting his head down and then back up. She was completely certain that he didn’t have any eyes, but she also couldn’t shake the idea that he was definitely staring at her.

“The Host…apologizes,” he offered at last, quieter. “His work is frustrating at times and he had no right to take it out on his guest. He is willing to admit that he was not expecting her visit and, in fact, has been of the belief that she is avoiding him.” Holding up a hand against Amy’s half-formed protest, he continued, “The Host’s appearance is unsettling to some, and his guest is more than simply _pretty_.” He paused for several seconds before slowly reaching to tuck some of Amy’s hair behind her ears.

He may not look or act like Mark, but apart from rougher callouses, his hands were the same. Amy instinctively leaned into the touch and the Host allowed the ghost of a smile to pass over his face as he methodically combed his fingers through her hair. “The Host finds his frustration lessening,” he commented, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Maybe you should take a break once in a while,” Amy suggested wryly, to which the Host’s smile widened but saddened simultaneously.

“The Host assures Amy that he would if he could.” With that he cupped her face, running his thumbs gently over her cheekbones, and then swept his coat back and sat, bending over his work and scribbling furiously on his bloodstained sheets of paper as if nothing had happened.

Amy took a deep breath, her cheeks tingling from the lost pressure, and then glanced down to see if he planned on saying goodbye. It was startling to see how deeply engrossed in his work he already was, but she reminded him a second time to drink the coffee before taking her leave.


	4. One of a Kind

“D’you think Mark does this to show you off?”

Amy spun around at the question, finding that in the two and a half minutes that she’d been checking her phone, Wilford Warfstache had covertly entered the kitchen and perched on the counter behind her. How _Warfstache_ of all people knew stealth tactics, she wasn’t sure.

“What do you mean?” she questioned distractedly, still half-thinking about the texts she needed to answer.

Flipping his hair out of his eyes, Wilford made a vague gesture. “He sends you here more often than he comes himself, don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s cos he wants to show you off to the rest of us; he’s the novelty, the paradigm, the one-of-a-kind genuine, manly article—so he gets the leading lady!” He shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant despite his following words: “I think I should get second dibs, though.”

“Second—?” Amy laughed, deciding she needed to stuff her phone in a pocket for this conversation. “Wilford, that’s not how it works.”

“Who says?!” Wilford shot back, squaring his shoulders defiantly. “I’ll have you know that I’m irreplaceable—like one of Mark’s arms! You’re in it for the arms, aren’t you? All of the girls are, but that’s because the arms are the _good_ stuff! I’m—”

“—a bit of an idiot,” Amy finished for him. Wilford reeled back slightly, moustache twitching in annoyance, and he wordlessly placed three fingers over his wounded heart. “No offense,” Amy added belatedly. “It’s like…I’m pretty sure that _I’m_ allowed to call you that, but I’d beat up someone else who tried it.”

Just like that, the moustache-twitching disappeared in favor of raised eyebrows and keenly bright eyes. “Oh, _really?_ ” Wilford exclaimed, sounding incredibly interested in the prospect.

“Su-u-ure. There’d definitely be kicking and bag-swinging,” Amy promised playfully.

His whole face scrunching up in delight, Wilford leapt from the counter, trailing a finger over the island as he came the long way around. Before Amy quite understood what was happening, he had an arm around her waist and was dipping her into a surprise kiss. She automatically clutched at his suspender straps against the threat of falling and he chuckled, holding the pose for a few more seconds before pulling back enough to bump noses with her, hoisting her upright.

“Nothing quite as spicy as a lady who knows what she’s doing,” he drawled with a crooked grin, leaving a warm, lasting squeeze on her upper arms before swaggering away. Folding her arms over her chest, Amy couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. Whatever facet of Mark’s personality _he_ was, there was a chance that she wanted to see it more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call this out of character if you want, but it's already a well-documented fact that Wilford is popular with the ladies! "The Warfstache Affair"? His thing with Celine? Yeah, somehow he manages to be a charmer XD


	5. Perfectly Perfect

Amy did her very best not to be unsettled when she heard one of the Egos giggling frenziedly from the corner of the room, but when she looked over, the scene playing out was worth a little discomfort.

Yandereplier was standing in front of a full-length mirror—which Amy didn’t remember being there last time she visited—fluffing his hair and smoothing his hands over his fitted school uniform. Once that was finished, he cocked one hip, rather sassily, and maintained the pose for several seconds, practically leering at himself.

“Looking good,” Amy muttered sarcastically. She hadn’t actually intended to be heard, but Yandere immediately spun around, his skirt flaring around him.

“ _Really?_ ” he gasped, utterly awestruck. He blinked wide eyes at her for several seconds, analyzing just how genuine the compliment was, and then he blushed bright pink, hiding his face behind his hands and giggling shyly. “Oh, _senpai_ , I had no idea!”

“Oh, whoa, you don’t have to call me that,” Amy assured him hurriedly, pressing her lips tightly together and glancing down at her phone, hoping to find a distraction. Yandere had amused her at first, but once the trails of blood had started appearing in the hallway, she had kept her distance from him. He wasn’t seen very often around the halls, but she had heard from the others that he was most often reorganizing his network of stalker pics.

Yandere had crossed the room now, hovering at her elbow with his hands clutched to his chest. Amy could feel his heavy breath ruffling her hair, so she looked up, ready to tell him to back up a few feet. His left hand cupped her chin before she could and Yandere gasped softly, as if he couldn’t believe he was touching her.

“Senpai, you— _you noticed me_ ,” he whispered delightedly.

“You’re…kind of hard to miss,” Amy stammered, reminding herself to stay calm and resisting the urge to reel away. Yandere could definitely be dangerous if he thought he was being rejected. In the back of her mind, she was praying that one of the other Egos would come into the hall and intervene.

“Am I?!” Yandere cried joyously, tucking his shock of red hair behind his ear so she could see his eyes properly. “Ohh, you’re so _sugoi_ and _kawaii_ and—and—and— _e-e-e-e!_ ” Amy couldn’t help but stare in disbelief as he finally let her go, twirling around the room and squealing girlishly before racing back to her with open arms. Instinctively Amy took a step back, holding up her hands.

“But I—I thought you liked someone else,” she reminded him, to which he stopped up short, his bangs flopping back into their proper place in front of his eyes.

“Of course I like _you!_ ” he pouted. “I—I always have love in my eyes, senpai—love for you! Why are you the only one who can’t see? D-Does my luscious hair hide it?” He swept his bangs away from his forehead a second time, clutching at the outer folds of his skirt and shifting back and forth in sullen nervousness. “I made it just like Mark’s but better, because I _deserve_ you.”

“Um…okay,” Amy began haltingly, processing this. “But the thing is, I don’t think I deserve you.”

“Oh, _no!_ ” As he reclosed the distance, Yandere grasped her hands with surprising gentleness and cooed tenderly, “Senpai! You’re smart, you’re funny, you have the best laugh, you speak your mind…You’re the most _kawaii!_ You’re perfectly perfect! You deserve everything!”

Was her throat getting a little tight? Amy found it hard to swallow but, suddenly, much easier to smile. “Thank you,” she managed at last.

Yandere gave her a wide smile in return and leaned slightly, settling their foreheads together.


	6. Shining Mirrors

It wasn’t hard to see that the doctor was overworking. Most of the time, he was able to simply diagnose death for his patients and be done with them, but the Host was going through one of his worse spells when it came to his visions, which meant he was bleeding almost nonstop and needed his bandages changed every hour on the hour. Moreover, Wilford had shot several contestants on his show—shockingly enough, it was a genuine accident; he had been experimenting with a semi-automatic and had underestimated the spray factor.

Naturally Dr. Iplier was there to clean up the mess, grumbling that no one appreciated the sacrifices he made for them. Amy had happened by just as he was finishing the cleanup, fumbling with the wet rags and the bottles of disinfectant scattered across the floor.

“You need some help?” Amy offered hesitantly, to which the doctor huffed but jerked a grudging nod.

“Not that I want it,” he sighed as she approached. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Here I am screwing around with bottles and rags while I know, I just _know_ the Host is waiting for me back at the lab, doing that impatient, twitchy thing he does where he narrates exactly what I’m doing and how long it’s taking before I can get to him!”

“Sorry…Sounds stressful,” Amy sympathized, going for the safer choice of the bottles instead of the rags; she was fairly sure she knew what those were soaked in. As she shifted to stand from her crouch, however, the doctor spontaneously looked up, smacking her hard in the face with the sharp mirror he wore on his forehead. Yelping, Amy dropped the bottles with a clatter to slap a hand over her eye, rolling out of the crouch into a sitting position.

Swearing profusely, Dr. Iplier threw the rags aside and skidded across the floor to kneel beside her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—are you okay? That was _really_ bad timing,” he hissed, looking her up and down in horror. “Are you alright? Are you blind?”

“I…don’t think so,” Amy gritted out, gingerly moving her hand away from her eye and blinking weakly.

“I’m a doctor; let me see,” he ordered, leaning in so they were practically nose to nose. As such, his head mirror was dangerously close to her face again, so Amy clenched her eyes shut in case he made another unexpected move. “I don’t think I damaged your eye,” he murmured, simultaneously relieved and ashamed. “But the bad news is that you might have a shiner for a while.”

“What, seriously?” Groaning, Amy blinked her good eye open—just in time to see the worry, nervousness, and humiliation cross his features. She paused, biting her lower lip against further complaints.

 _There’s always makeup…a_ lot _of makeup_ , she reminded herself firmly. _He’s mortified enough as it is_.

“It’s okay,” she announced after a moment or two, clearing her throat and trying for confidence. “It’s not like I’ll die from it, right?”

Dr. Iplier sighed at the teasing jab and when his warm breath hit her face, Amy noticed again just how close he was. He seemed to realize it at the same time, lifting a hand and gently pressing his fingertips against the discoloration blooming over her cheekbone. She flinched lightly at the contact but didn’t pull away, not even when he moved his hand to her jaw and kissed the bruised area instead.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

Amy exhaled evenly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. “Yeah. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”


	7. Branching Out

Amy had heard all about the King of the Squirrels. He was the third Ego and, like Wilford and Dark, had been created before she and Mark started dating. Unlike the others, he rarely ever stayed inside, so they had only seen each other in passing and even then, the King seemed uninterested in saying hello, much less getting to know her in detail; he was too busy lathering peanut butter in and around his mouth.

Today, however, as she was just leaving Egos Incorporated for the day, she saw a vaguely familiar fur cape spill onto the ground beneath some trees near the back of the lot. As far as she could remember, the King wore that cape at all times. Why had he dropped it? Curiosity stirring, she crept carefully underneath the branches, gathering up the soft fur covering and peering up at the sprawling, weathered tree.

Not a minute later, a sharp series of clanks preceded a beautiful golden crown landing at her feet. Brows knitting, Amy picked that up too, wrapping it in the cape and calling unsurely, “King? Are you up there?” The branches and leaves were so thick that she couldn’t be absolutely sure. It could be that he had simply left these items here last time he climbed the tree and the wind had knocked them down.

“I’m stuck!” the King called in response, clearly trying to stifle panic. He squirmed, rustling the tree branches around him to indicate his general location. “I was feeding my subjects and then the branch broke underneath me. I—I—I’m _stuck_ , I need _help_ and I—”

“I’ll go grab Dark,” Any suggested hurriedly; why that was her first inclination, she didn’t know. “He can get you down in a sec—”

“No!” the King yelped, his branches shuddering. “The last time Dark ‘helped’ me down, he used his aura and it was—uhh, it was—” He struggled for the proper words, but judging by the following whimper he let out, whatever it was made for some nightmares.

Amy’s next ideas were Wilford and the Host, but neither of them had a particularly light touch either. Squaring her shoulders, she set the cape and crown down on the grass and circled the tree, ducking and bobbing to examine each branch until she finally spotted the shadowed mass far, far away from the ground. She could just see a glint of the sun off his glasses and one eye, wide with fear.

“Okay, um, let me see if I can _guide_ you down,” she called apprehensively. “Do you see that branch by your—left shoulder? I think it’s your left. Left hand down a bit…left a bit more. Great, now try putting your foot on a branch below that one. Okay, right foot on that one a few inches down…Out and down a little…Great!” She continued instructing him as best she could, with the King compensating where she couldn’t see. When he finally came into view, he leapt the rest of the way down, landing with a grunt in an awkward heap.

“How long were you trapped up there?” she demanded as she took one of his arms to help him up.

“Five hours,” he mumbled, wiping at his sticky face and grimacing as he found leaves had caught in the peanut butter.

“ _Five_ — _?!_ And you didn’t call for help?” Amy sputtered.

“No, I did. No one heard me and my phone has been dead for three days.” Seeming disconcertingly comfortable with this reality, the King picked up his cape and wrapped himself up in it, leaning against the tree trunk and buffing dents out of his crown with his sleeve. Amy watched him in mild disbelief, struck with the sudden realization that he may be one of the oldest Egos, but he looked _young_ and somewhat shy, as Mark had before he met her.

“You’re bleeding…” she murmured. The King looked up at Amy’s words as she rifled through her purse for a tissue or a napkin to clean up the scrape on his jaw he’d acquired on the way down.

“I’ve had worse,” he reassured her, which wasn’t exactly comforting. As soon as Amy wiped the tissue over the cut, however, it stuck and tore, bits and pieces of it clinging to the butter smeared on his cheeks. She cursed and he chuckled, ducking his head and shrugging in the same motion. “Let’s just call it a kingly battle scar. The squirrels won’t judge. Thanks for helping me, Madam Amy…as ground partners go, you aren’t bad!”

“Maybe you _should_ have a partner when you go climbing,” Amy suggested seriously as he settled the crown back on his head. “Prevent that from happening again, y’know?”

The King offered an introspective nod, looking down at her with soft eyes. “I wouldn’t mind it.”


	8. A Matter of Perspective

“Sah, my lady!”

Amy very narrowly managed to move her toes out of range of Bing’s skateboard as he rode wildly into the room, flashing peace signs as he came to a stop by slamming into the side of the island. Kicking the board up to lean against the lower cabinets, he hopped onto the island itself, folding his arms and looking quite proud of himself for the maneuver.

“Sah?” Amy tried amusedly with a half-hearted “hang-ten”. Bing grinned widely at the sight.

“You know, you wouldn’t get any of that from Google,” he commented, briefly pulling his hat off to run a hand through his gel-wet hair.

That was an abrupt change in subject. Amy knew full well about the rivalry between him and Google; Bing was jealous of Google’s success and Google was equally unimpressed with him and his millennial personality, but as far as she knew, they very well could have had a pleasant conversation without any mention of the other Ego.

“I can’t really imagine him like you,” she agreed, to which Bing nodded forcefully and slapped his hat back on his head.

“Exactly! He’s not _real_ _in_ , y’know,” he continued, stretching his arms behind his head. “Psh, that’s not even slang my dudes use anymore; it’s only still around because of that Peanuts movie! And Google’s what keeps _that_ around. Why? I don’t know. He’s, like, got byte-bugs in his brain garage!”

“Oh, really?” Amy hummed lightly, biting her lip against the urge to smile.

“ _Totes_ , my lady. A lot of people think he’s all that, but he’s just one of those cranky old systems who gets everything and everyone the new systems ought to.” A clear note of bitterness laced through Bing’s tone there, though his face showed no sign of it; most of it was hidden behind his oversized sunglasses. “And why? Just cos he’s a fancy multinational company that anyone can use for whatever? Is he cooler cos he got to you first?”

“He got to _me?_ ” Amy echoed, catching onto that immediately. Bing startled, arms falling back to his sides, and not even his glasses could hide the dread on his face as he realized what had just happened.

“I didn’t mean that. I didn’t say that!” he barked self-consciously, losing all composure as he tossed his skateboard onto the floor and sped away. His escape wasn’t quite as successful as he’d hoped; without warning, one of the wheels caught on a crack in the floorboards and within moments he was sprawled out on the floor.

“Are you okay?” Amy demanded in astonishment. Bing didn’t sit up or even move for that matter, remaining flat on his stomach, all of his limbs at awkward angles.

“Remind me not to get up again,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against the wood.

Laughing sympathetically, Amy bent down to pick up his fallen hat, brushing it off. When Bing lifted his head, she put the cap back in its proper place and huffed fondly.

“Google and I had a hug. I was stressed, he was flirting…And he’s modeled after Mark when he was in his _ruggedly handsome_ phase. But you’re _cool_ ,” she explained. “It’s a matter of perspective.”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Bing blew his hair out of his eyes. “Do you like ‘cool’ more?” he questioned hopefully.

“I like both.”

“But if you had to settle for one?” he insisted, planting his chin in one hand expectantly.

“I’m not going to answer that, because I have _both_ ,” Amy laughed, nudging his skateboard back to him before it continued on its course across the room. “I’ll see you later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bing XD He's always trying to be cool and usually he succeeds, but I have a feeling that if he's around a pretty girl, he fails miserably!


	9. Existential Crisis

“It’s official,” Ed Edgar announced, tossing his hat onto the couch and then slumping next to it. “I’m having an existential crisis.”

Amy blinked a few times, sitting up a little straighter to let him know she was listening but not asking for any clarification. She had a feeling he was going to give it anyway. Sure enough, he propped his boots up on the coffee table and went on with a sigh.

“S’like…I don’t matter much in the big picture of things, y’know? My business has never been a booming one and now I’ve never seen it at a lower low! S’like people don’t want babies anymore, at least not unique ones. I _still_ haven’t sold my son, I’m in debt up to my armpits, and then there’s all the others getting mad at me because I can’t contribute to the Egos Incorporated pile of bills.”

“Well, technically all of it comes out of Mark’s payroll,” Amy pointed out, which didn’t seem to console him very much.

“Yeah, but they’ve all got their hands in it, don’t they?! Which means they make a point of branding me the screw-up. Not even _Shepherd_ gets ragged on that much. If he and the others have so much money, maybe they could make a good deal with me, get a baby of their own; they’d all stay in house, I could contribute and the money would keep going to the bills, just by me instead of them. Wins all ’round!” When he noticed Amy had started snickering, he sat up indignantly. “What?!”

“I’m sorry, but can you imagine _any_ of them trying to take care of a baby?” she exclaimed. “That would be a catastrophe!”

He paused to really consider that for a minute and then couldn’t help but snort. “Wilford would turn a cyborg baby into a death machine for his game show.”

“Exactly! And Dark would probably start brainwashing his to help him take over the channel,” Amy added ruefully.

“But Host would probably do pretty well with it—at least at first,” Edgar mused, settling his elbows on his knees. “He’d be great at readin’ bedtime stories. Then one night he’d trust it enough to show it…whatever nightmares are underneath those bandages and he’d scar it for life.”

“Aww, I’m sure it’s not so bad,” Amy scoffed, to which he shook his head.

“Nope, it’s bad, trust me.” Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he hissed, “I saw just the side of his head once when Dr. Iplier was changing his bandages. Never seen him head on, but what I’ve seen did enough to me; it’s branded into me for life. He probably popped his own eyes out so he wouldn’t have to look at himself; they’re just like dentures!” As Amy burst out laughing, he offered her a crooked smile which faded all too quickly. “But everyone likes him anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure Dark is the only other Ego who actually _likes_ him.”

“No, I don’t mean the others,” Edgar waved the thought away. “The fans love him. They love all of the others, y’know? Even Dark. They latch onto every despicable thing he does like it’s bread and water for the channel. Wilford murders someone, they go crazy! They think Bim’s cute, Yandere’s talented, the King is fun, Shepherd’s dopey but loveable…What d’you think I got? I sell kids. No, I keep kids. I was good for one long commercial.”

“You’re good for more than that,” Amy argued, to which he shrugged listlessly. “I’m serious! Listen, you’re good at _taking care_ of kids, if all of those ones you’re trying to sell are still in good condition. You’ve got a good imagination, you pick up on small details, you think about what other people need…And I never would’ve gotten that mental image of the Host without you.”

Edgar ruminated on this for a minute or two and then slung his hat back onto his head. “Happy to be of service, ma’am. You ever think of adopting a kid?”


	10. Hitting Hard

“Stay very quiet, Jim,” Jim urged as he crawled down the secondary hallway in Egos Incorporated. For once his whisper wasn’t thematic; it was meant to remind his brother how important this coverage was. “This may very well be the most important mystery we’ll ever expose! There’s no telling where it could lead us. Who knows? We could end up tracking it across the United States, like that time we had to hitchhike through airports all the way to Brighton!”

Jim nodded solemnly, readjusting the camera where it rested on his shoulder, and followed Jim as he scooted forward just enough to poke his head around the corner. He ducked back almost as quickly, pressing a finger to his lips and then speaking around it. “My keen reporter instincts were correct, Jim! Sure enough, our subject is sitting in the living room, talking quite animatedly with child salesman, Ed Edgar. Who knows what they could be discussing? Is she attempting to change his potentially corrupt ways or is he convincing her to fall in with his business? What could drive her to such a thing? Is there an innate longing for a child in her, as there is in many other beautiful women around the world?” For a moment Jim seemed to forget that he was trying to manufacture suspense, leaning his head back against the hallway wall with a wistful sigh. “Ahh, she is _beautiful_ …”

Ed Edgar cracked a joke then and Amy laughed, causing Jim to perk up. “I seem to have heard the Host’s name,” he told the camera hurriedly, peering around the corner a second time and then over his shoulder. “And we know from past coverage, Jim, that Ms. Nelson took part in a clandestine meeting with the Host behind closed doors. Because the Host has hindered all of our previous attempts to get footage from inside his room, we can’t say for sure what happened between them. Could it be that they have an unforeseen connection? Could it be that Ed Edgar is trying to undermine their relationship in hopes that Amy will turn to him instead?! What a shrewd businessman he is!

“However, we’ve also obtained clear coverage of Ms. Nelson’s interaction with Googleplier, which displays a rather touching moment between them. We have yet to see more of them together, but it seemed as though she may very well have been integrated into _his_ android core. How Yandereplier is taking this news, we can’t be sure; Amy has had an increasingly strong effect on him ever since she complimented his dress sense and humbly allowed his affections. She deserves all of the affection in the world, Jim—at least _I’d_ think so if we’d ever, uh, met face to face.”

Clearing his throat of any tension, Jim shuffled his sneaking shoes awkwardly against the floorboards and went on, “In the brief interview time we had with the King of the Squirrels, he mentioned her compassion and bravery in helping him down from one of his beloved trees. She certainly wasn’t the damsel in distress, Jim! Bingiplier’s account confirms that she is, I quote, ‘a pretty hip lady; she knows what’s up.’ I can only imagine this is why she approached the Silver Shepherd as a friend instead of a flame; one can only imagine how Roxanne would have taken it if _he_ had cheated on _her!_ I imagine that Dr. Iplier would have quite a few stitches to sew—if he wasn’t busy playing _love doctor_. It seems an interaction with Amy was all he needed to treat his broken bedside manner. But how can we forget, Jim? There’s only one lucky Ego so far to show us a kiss for the camera, and _that_ is William Wilford Warfstache.” Throwing up his hands, he glanced not at the camera but at his twin, admitting, “I’d honestly be proud of our hard-hitting journalist if it wasn’t hitting _me_ so hard.”

“To be fair, Wilford sprang it on me,” Amy informed them from above, taking a step back as Jim yelped and flailed away, shoes squeaking furiously as he leapt upright.

“Oh! Hi!” he exclaimed uncomfortably, running a hand over his hair to groom it and only succeeding in tousling it further. “Am—er, Ms. Nelson! We’re here to—”

“Spy on me?” Amy finished for him expectantly, without any real ire.

“—Ahh…ask for an interview,” Jim recovered surprisingly well, loosening the collar on his shirt as he leaned an arm against the hallway wall. “There’s a lot we don’t know about you that we’d like to know in detail! _Great_ detail.”

“Huh,” Amy mused thoughtfully, looking the nervous reporters up and down. “I guess that’d be fine.”

Clearly Jim hadn’t been expecting an agreement; he immediately slumped more fully on the wall with a long outbreath, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. “Alright then!” he muttered with a faint smile. “We’ll be right back, viewers, with a brand-new exclusive: ‘What Keeps Her Coming Back?’ And now for the weather!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit like a midway point for this little series, a reminder of all the previous chapters for you and an updated list for me XD I think Bim Trimmer may be the only one who hasn't interacted with her yet, apart from You-Know-Who...


	11. Stick To The Script

“So, Bim, tell me again what it is you want me to do,” Amy requested as Bim fiddled with his tie in front of Yandere’s living room mirror. Once he gave up on making it any straighter, he pivoted and approached, his expensive shoes squeaking against the floorboards.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not so hard, Amy,” Bim assured her, lightly grasping her upper arms to reposition her before making a few vague gestures. “All I need you to do is stand here in front of me and look pretty!”

Truth be told, Amy had been somewhat hesitant to help Bim with whatever his latest project was, given that he hadn’t explained a single detail of it. As soon as she had agreed, he had offered her the simultaneously relieved and sassy grin Mark was famous for and had presented her with one of her date-night dresses. Where or how he had gotten it, she had no idea, but with some reluctance, here she was in her black dress and lifted boots. She didn’t think they went very well together, honestly, but Bim had insisted on that specific outfit.

“And what is this for?” she pressed, folding her arms doubtfully.

“For a—well, a—actually it would take too long to explain,” Bim briskly brushed the question away. “The point is that you stand there doing…whatever it is you do and I’m going to experiment a little. I’ll feed you a few lines, see how they roll, we’ll do some chopping and, ha, _trimming_ —” He added a gratuitous wink to the pun and then adjusted his glasses. “—and in the end, I’ll finally have a script for this very important project I’m working on!” Clapping his hands together eagerly, he suggested, “We should get started.”

“So I’m supposed to stand here and react to what you’re saying?”

“That’s right!” Bim chirped, yanking on his tie one more time. “I’m hoping your reaction will be enough to tell me if it should go in my script. Good? Good. Here we go!” Clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders, he proceeded to put on a lazy and comfortable air, announcing smoothly, “Most guys need three meals a day to keep going…I just need to lock eyes with you.” Amy looked as though she didn’t quite understand and Bim shrugged in response. “Or if you want, I could be the gentleman and tie your boots for you, because I don’t want you falling for anyone else.”

“Wait, is this part of the program?” Any asked, half-laughing in surprise.

“I’m no photographer,” Bim went on as if he hadn’t heard, “but I can totally picture us together.”

“Cute, but why are you telling me this?”

“If I had a nickel for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I’d only have five cents!” Bim crooned, perching on the back of the chair behind him.

“Bim, just hold on a minute,” Amy instructed, smiling incredulously. “Is the point of this so you can practice pickup lines with me?”

Bim didn’t respond for a long series of seconds and then he sighed tersely, shoulders slumping. “Well, it didn’t work, did it? None of them even made you smile.”

“I _am_ smiling!” Amy exclaimed.

“Because you think it’s funny, not because you were actually going for it,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “And y’know what, it wasn’t just to practice with you! It was meant to—I was actually _trying_ to flirt with you!”

“…So you got me dressed up like this because you actually like how I look in this dress,” Amy began slowly, “And you had me put on these boots _just_ for that line about tying them? And the five cents? You actually meant that?”

“That’s right.” For once Bim resisted the urge to elaborate on his answer. His face was belatedly turning scarlet and he leaned further back on the chair, avoiding eye contact with her.

Well, Amy mused, she could never deny how great Mark and his Egos looked in suits. “I won’t give you a good pickup line,” she commented, nodding toward the kitchen. “But do you want a cup of coffee?”

Almost immediately the showman perked up, his eyes brightening. “Oh…sure! I take it with six shots of expresso!”

Pursing her lips against the urge to wince, Amy took his arm and encouraged, “If we’re going to try holding a conversation before you crash, let’s try _half_ that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, surely _some_ of us thought that "five cents" line was pretty cute ;)


	12. Insurgence

Setting aside his pen and gingerly massaging his forehead with ink-stained fingers, the Host forced himself to crack his neck, despite the sharp ache it sent down his spine. Today was what Dr. Iplier called an “Insurgence Flux,” an all-too-long period when his mind’s eye opened wide and the visions came to him in full force. He had been at his desk for several hours now, hurriedly cataloguing the flashes and their contents and, once he found a respite, poring over them to decipher them.

Many of them were mundane things—a list of contestants Bim would be broadcasting on his show, the Jims’ next weather report, “Don’t sample Shepherd’s attempt at coffee”, etcetera. His other notes, which he had no recollection of writing, were much more important yet alarmingly vague:

_Watch Wilford’s foot + carpet + stairs                           rainstorm mud slipping iron_

_broken spotlight, gameshow fire             Sword to a gunfight_

_Iron smells                              Find the voi̛c͘e̶            Amy, deep breath_

_NO CHANCE?                Beautiful                       He’s my only friend                             Just a joke_

_where is the radio?                                    Her sweet voice_

_voi̛c͘e̶ in my head                 show them their chances                  Crashing barrels_

_Don’t forget the SWORD                               Intimate           YOU DON’T NEED THE SWORD_

_don’t trust Yandere                               Blood is IRON_

_Control               A voi̛c͘e̶ I don’t re͝c̷ogni͠ze̸                        Soft hair_

_hands cupping her face                       She’s so beautiful_

_Intimate         Amy                                                 DEFEND YOURSELF_

Within the last hour, he had already filled fifteen pages with cramped, disjointed lettering, messages to his future self that may come in handy if only he could _understand_ them. As he ghosted his hand over the dried ink, he felt it cramp with the preemptive urge to pick up the pen again. Within moments of doing so, the rest of his body seized up and the next vision sequence began.

“The Host Sees his peers, discussing something amongst themselves in pairs…” he mumbled distantly as he wrote. “Five of two, five sets…Tension is at a low…Building…” What were they discussing? This vision was overly sharp and bright, making it hard to focus on the minute details. The other Egos’ voices were muffled and he couldn’t see their lips to read them.

The Host shook his head a little as the vision receded, just enough that he could Look cautiously down at the bottom of the page he was using.

 _AMY AMY AMY AMY AMY_ stared back at him, each repetition pressed into the paper with more force than the last.

“Amy,” he muttered in disbelief and concern, tapping his pen against the paper. He had only seen flashes of the other Egos in his vision; how could it be that it centered around her? “Amy…”

“Host?” The other voice in the room belonged to Amy herself, the Host realized as he spun his chair around to face her. “I heard you talking to yourself and I was wondering if something was wrong,” Amy explained unnecessarily. “Dr. Iplier said you were having an off day.”

“The Host laughs at the irony of the statement, seeing as he would love nothing _more_ than a day off,” the Host quipped, trying to relieve some of the tension he felt stirring in his stomach. “While grateful for Amy’s concern, the Host would prefer to ask how _her_ day has—” Stopping up short, he clutched at the arms of his chair, spitting out instead, “The Host Sees that the other Egos have gathered in the living room, just as his vision predicted. They are discussing the recent happenings around the house—their conference meetings, their scripts and plans for videos, and most specifically Amy’s frequent and most welcome visits.”

“Wait, I’ve just been checking up on you every once in a while,” Amy reminded him unsurely, folding her arms. “What are they saying?”

“Google believes that his latest contact with her was a complete success. Bing protests that Google is stale and unqualified in the arts of flirting, that Amy was only accommodating him. Google replies that Bing is unqualified for _anything_ to do with the opposite sex, given that his inferior safe search prevents him from reaching any sort of mental or physical maturity.”

“Ouch!” Amy hissed, going unheard as the Host twitched, fingertips forming dents in his armrests. Somewhere beyond his Sight, he could hear voices rising from the other room. Amy heard them too, twisting worriedly toward the sound.

“Ed Edgar remarks that this is exactly what he discussed with Amy at their past meeting: that none of the others are mature enough for adult matters, such as caring for a child. To defuse some of the tension between Google and Bing, he also—” The Host paused, tilting his head pointedly in Amy’s direction. “—shares the _insensitive_ joke he made with Amy about the Host’s eye sockets.”

“That—I didn’t really _believe_ that,” Amy pleaded. “I—I know I shouldn’t have laughed; I’m sorry.”

He might have accepted her apology under any other circumstance, but at the moment he was fully immersed in what he was Seeing. “Bim remarks that neither Google nor Bing have succeeded in asking Amy out on a date, while the two of them shared a wonderful cup of coffee together. Silver Shepherd attempts to tell Bim that they shared the same, but Yandere indignantly interrupts to proclaim that he and his perfect senpai ‘have a deeper connection than any of them could understand.’”

“ _That’s_ not good…” Amy winced, shifting her weight back and forth as if unsure whether or not to leave the room and address the problem.  

“Bim and Yandere begin snapping at each other as Wilford boasts that he is the only Ego to have kissed her. He notices Reporter Jim’s longing sigh and is taken by surprise; he acts on it by teasing Reporter Jim for lacking the guts to make a move. Cameraman Jim defends his brother: ‘Jim has the good sense not to push himself on others,’ to which the startled Wilford offers some unfortunate choice words. Dr. Iplier cuts him off by informing him that he too had shared a kiss with Amy—”

“It was on the _cheek!_ ” Amy cried in dismay, throwing up her hands.

“Which is what the King of the Squirrels points out. He offers his own belief that that kind of intimacy is superficial when compared to working together to achieve something beautiful, such as a daring rescue mission. Dr. Iplier scoffs: ‘How could a man who spends his time gallivanting in squirrel dung and peanut butter know the meaning of romance and beauty?’ This wounds the King, who promptly slings peanut butter at the doctor, staining his lab coat.

“As the doctor shrieks at the King, Silver Shepherd attempts to intervene but is stopped by Ed Edgar, who implies that Shepherd will only worsen the situation, given that it has nothing to do with him. Shepherd insists that this argument involves all of them, given that Amy’s affections upset the dynamic of the household. Edgar then states that Shepherd can only date one girl at a time and ought to keep to his own business, which angers the humble hero. He is about to remind Ed Edgar of his own failed marriage and child he is desperate to be rid of—but is interrupted by Bim, who laughs scornfully at them all:

“‘If this is a competition for one of us to win Amy’s heart, there’s no question that it’s going to be me! I mean, look at me and then look at all of you, with your frills and mismatched colors and kid gloves and…well, Host may not be here…” The Host’s jaw clenched as he heard Bim’s next words, mere milliseconds before the showman said them in the other room. “…but we all know he’d stand no chance. She couldn’t even lean in to kiss him without worrying about blood on her face.’”

Amy drew in a sharp breath, blinking a few times as the Host rose languidly from his chair, smoothing down his coat. “Mr. Trimmer forgets,” he began in a low voice, “that the Host is able to envision this conversation from the other room.”

“Host…” Amy began nervously, reaching for his arm. He brushed past her easily, moving toward the door.

“He also forgets that, when challenged for his love, Yandereplier is a dangerous opponent,” he growled, his voice gaining volume as he strode down the hall. “He forgets that the Host narrates events, that anyone, Ego or otherwise, can become one of his characters. The Host lifts his hand, the near-tangible cords of his vision winding gently around his fingers, and finds Yandere among them—”

“Host, you need to calm down,” Amy urged anxiously, grabbing at his shoulder to get his attention. “This is going to get completely out of hand, okay? There’s no need for any of you to be jealous! I’m not—”

“The Host takes hold of Yandere’s hand and lifts it,” the Host narrated coldly as he came into the other Egos’ view, “ _backhanding_ Bim Trimmer across the face.”

The harsh smack and Bim’s following yelp silenced the others’ individual arguments almost immediately. All eyes turned to the Host, who folded his hands behind his back. Yandere, panting quickly, clutched his own hand to his chest protectively in the hopes that the Host wouldn’t use it again, while Bim put _his_ fingers to the fresh mark on his face.

“The Host would like to inform Mr. Trimmer that he is perfectly capable of sharing intimacy with someone. He is capable of things that _none_ of the others are, so it would be wise of them not to belittle him and his abilities unless they feel the need to experience them firsthand!” the Host threatened, coming to a stop in a rigid defensive stance. “He would be perfectly willing to show them all now if any of them want to know how far he’ll go to defend Amy from being effected by their idiotic jokes and useless, _self-indulgent_ narcissism! In fact—”

Even as he lifted his hands a second time, he didn’t have a chance to examine the threads of the future. Instead he fell back a step into a more passive pose and when he spoke again, his voice was much softer. “The Host senses the presence of Darkiplier.”

“Perceptive of you,” Dark commented with composure as he slid into their sight, took a firm hold on Amy’s arm and dragged her with a wordless gasp into the nearest empty room, slamming the door shut with a firm click of the lock.

Bing was the first to break the stunned silence. “Host!” he burst out. “My dude, wh-what’s he gonna do?! Do it again, that thing you just did! Tell us what he’s gonna do with her!”

The Host swallowed dryly, pushing into their midst toward the nearest chair. “The Host will do his best,” he promised hastily before sitting down, folding his arms tightly across his chest and willing another vision to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the kind of chapter you were expecting, was it? >.> Well, the last few chapters have started becoming less like one-shots and more like they're connected and leading up to something, so I decided to write this one to confirm it. It was kind of inevitable that the Egos got possessive and jealous of each other over Amy! As for what's happening next, well, that'll wait until the next chapter!


	13. Casting Shadows

Amy’s feet skidded out across the floor as Dark drove her further into the room, which turned out to be Google’s. Google didn’t use it very often, however, so it was bare of all personal items aside from a perfectly made bed and a computer screen fixed to the wall.

“Okay, Dark…” she began apprehensively, spinning around to face him and holding out her hands placatingly. “What just happened out there was…I don’t even know, but I—”

“ _Hush_ ,” Dark shut down her words immediately, eyes narrowed.

Trying to keep her breathing steady, Amy pressed her lips tightly together as he approached, bringing with him a faster tempo for her heart, a ringing in her ears, and a sense that the rest of the room was overly bright. She resisted the urge to blink against it, remaining rigidly still as he circled her, assessing, fingers woven together behind his back.

“What does Mark see in you? What does anyone?” he groused under his breath, more to himself than to her. He halted when they were again facing each other.

“I—”

“ _You_ ,” Dark mocked, very nearly rolling his eyes. “The universe doesn’t revolve around you, Amy Nelson, despite what my childish peers seem to think. You have some power over them—all of them. You weave your way into their minds, their hearts…even the sadistic android to whom this room belongs, even Wilford, and the Host…Even my potential allies can’t resist you.”

Dark’s tone indicated that he wasn’t meant to be interrupted and his aura was oppressive, forcing Amy to swallow her first instinct to protest. By sheer strength of will, she slid a step back, searching for the distance that would let her breathe properly. Scoffing mildly at the attempt, Dark overtook her just as quickly with one large step, the clack of his shoes echoing smartly.

“You are a weakness in and of yourself. You actively seek out what’s lenient and susceptible in others, taking advantage of them in order to suit your own purposes.”

Amy couldn’t stay silent at that. “Excuse me? I’m not some manipulative—”

“It doesn’t matter if your purposes are for what you call _good_ ,” Dark checked her icily, wisps of silver and red lacing in and around each other through his fingers, reproachful. “Your abilities are more than I had surmised, and I intend to find out how far you can be pushed.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous, Dark! I’m just a normal human,” Amy insisted. “Do you think if I was that powerful, I wouldn’t have used it to try and be _rid_ of you by now?!” Dark tilted his head sharply at that and Amy leaned her head back, shutting her eyes for a second. “You’ve caused Mark so much pain. You’ve tried to kill him more times than I could count—you were at it even before I _knew_ him!—and even when you back off enough not to hurt him physically, you’ve manipulated him. You’ve messed with his mind, you’ve totally torn him up emotionally, and you’ve tried hurting the fans the same way! If I honestly had abilities, maybe I could just coerce you into giving up and leaving him alone!”

“You would _try?_ ” Dark sneered, sounding equally disdainful and intrigued. “You believe you could muster up the bravery to _coerce_ me, with all that entails?”

Rooted to the spot by his narrowed gaze, Amy jerked a brisk nod, managing breathlessly, “If I had powers…yeah, I think I could.”

The Ego’s movements toward her were much more than predatory; offshoots of his miasma hissed and chittered as they spanned the floor and mounted the walls, closing in around the both of them, putting pressure on her back to force her closer—presenting her for his examination. Within the blink of an eye, Dark was mere inches away from her with an arm locked around her waist, cufflink pulling at the fabric of her sweater and fingertips digging into her ribs.

The world around them drained of color and Amy shivered minutely as static ghosted through her ears, over her arms, and the back of her neck. Their eyes caught and locked and Amy wanted nothing more than to recoil, find someplace to hide from his stare, but she could feel the darkness encroaching on her, making her knees weak. She reached up with trembling fingers, hoping to push him away, but a tendril of smoke slithered from his arm and covered her hand, pressing it against his chest. She could feel his voice rumbling through her fingers as he spoke again.

“‘No siren did ever so charm the ear of the listener as the listening ear has charmed the soul of the siren,’” he quoted, his eyes calculating as they raked over her features. “You relish in it, don’t you? Knowing that they’re shards of the same adoring man, all perfectly willing to give you the world…”

“And you aren’t?” Amy countered mildly.

To her disbelief, Dark chuckled at that, low in his throat, and shifted just closer. Amy stilled, watching with baited breath as another wisp of his aura peeled away from him, spiraling upward and delicately tracing her jawline and chin. After a long, tense moment, Dark showed off an unsettling grin, his perfect teeth contrasting brightly with his shadowed face.

“I think it’s for the best that you can’t be rid of me, Amy Nelson,” he purred, briefly nudging his forehead against hers, his bangs tickling her lashes and forcing her to blink. “I’ll be there to watch you flourish. Perhaps, in the end, I’ll be _coerced_ to applaud you.” With that, he shoved her away, twisting his neck with a subtle crack as a staticky, agonized branch of his form split off, screeching, and was subsequently reeled back in. He stayed just long enough to see that she recovered her balance before calling his aura back to him and striding out of the room.

Suddenly out of breath, Amy allowed herself some grace and sank onto the floor, pressing her hands flat against it to be sure it was stable underneath her. As the last hazy strands of Dark’s life force slithered away, Google took their place, all of his systems audibly vibrating with tension. The others weren’t very far behind.

“Amy!” Dr. Iplier burst out, ducking under Google’s arm and kneeling in front of her, much as he had a few days ago. “Are you alright? Did he touch you?”

“Yeah,” Amy murmured in a breath, glancing uncertainly at her distorted reflection in the doctor’s head mirror.

“What was he sayin’?” Wilford demanded, fiddling impatiently with one of his butterfly knives.

As Dr. Iplier set about examining her arms and neck, Amy glanced up at the others crowded around her. They had different faces, different ranges of expression, and some looked older than others, but they shared the same troubled and compassionate eyes.

They all loved her.

Had she done this to them simply by being with Mark? She couldn’t have; she had no power! She was the first, just as Mark was the first—the one-of-a-kind genuine article, as Wilford would say. She had no Egos of her own. As far as she knew, she didn’t even have a dark side.

“Alright, alright, you all need to give her some space,” the doctor was saying, waving the other Egos away as he rose. “The Host can use his Foresight and guarantee I’ll give her good treatment, but we need some privacy. She probably just went through a lot, if I know Dark at all.”

“Upon looking forward, the Host does concur with the doctor’s prior words,” their narrator offered solemnly. This seemed to reassure only a few of them, but Dr. Iplier insisted, pushing them away until they were filing out of their own volition.

“Do you think you can walk to my lab, Amy, or do you need to stay here?” he asked his patient once they were alone.

“I think I should stay,” Amy decided shakily, not quite meeting his eyes.

She didn’t seem particularly stable at the moment, the doctor noted with sympathy. “Alright, I’m just going to grab my medical kit so I can make sure he didn’t bruise you. I can only imagine how Mark might react if he did.” That said, he went for the door, glancing back one last time and then stopping up short for a bewildered double-take. Amy still hadn’t looked up at him, but in his peripheral vision it was like her eyes were darker, _blacker_ than before.

 _No, never mind,_ he decided after another second or two as he watched her peer up toward the ceiling; her eyes were every lovely shade of brown all at once. The darkness was just the shadow of her beautiful face, playing tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd there you have it! *tosses cliffhanger glitter into the air* I know this fluffy story took a bit of a sinister turn, but honestly you asked for it when you told me Dark should come last! I may very well do more with Amy x Egos in other stories, but I think this one has a good place to end. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed! I had _so much_ fun exploring all of the Egos and their relationship with their lovely lady!  <3

**Author's Note:**

> I've felt the draw to do an Amy x Egos post for a while now and I finally found the inspiration to start it tonight! I hope you're enjoying! If you want, comment to tell me who you think should be next!


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